Cookies
by Lizzy Lovegood
Summary: Rose is craving cookies and cuddles. The Doctor obliges.


**A/N:** A bit of plotless fluff that was written for the lovely jeeno2 over on Tumblr for the timepetalsprompts Pay It Forward promo. Enjoy!

 **. . .**

 **Cookies**

"You know, I met Jim Henson once."

Sprawled across their four-poster bed and altogether too comfortable to move, Rose levers herself the barest inch off the mattress with an intelligent-sounding "Hngh?"

"Jim Henson," says the Doctor again and nods toward the screen where Kermit is introducing this week's celebrity guest. "I met him."

It had been a long day at her mum's. A _looong_ day. Every step from the flat to the TARDIS just across the street seemed like light-years, never mind that the Doctor was the one weighted down with boxes and bags - which he let drop the second they stepped foot on the grating. Sweeping Rose up in his arms the Doctor lived up to his title, prescribing rest and relaxation while he dealt with the detritus of Hurricane Jackie.

"Or tornado," he offered at Rose's obligatory sound of protest, fluffing her pillow to ultimate pleasurable plushness by his calculations. "Tsunami. Sharknado. Volcano that spews hot lava whenever you insults its' tea."

Promising an imminent return with cuddles and cookies, he had brushed his lips briefly over hers and darted out of the room. When her efforts to follow the first _R_ of his instructions resulted only in tossing and turning, Rose requested the TARDIS turn on the telly and pop in one of the Doctor's old tapes of The Muppet Show so they would have something to watch together when he came back. She must have drifted off soon after, the blaring music and silly skits surprisingly more soothing than any lullaby or counted livestock.

The Swedish Chef has taken center-stage, preparing some unrecognizable gourmet meal in an unintelligible mutter. Rose's stomach grumbles, twisting uncomfortably, just as the scent of chocolate, sugar, and bananas - the most important ingredient, bananas - hits her nose and the Doctor sets a plate of these fresh-baked pieces of nirvanic deliciousness on her night-table.

"I believe I promised you cookies." He grins a self-satisfied grin which only grows as Rose moans into her first bite.

"I love you." Rose throws her head back in ecstasy. Crumbs spill down onto the swell of her breasts; the Doctor's eyes follow them. "I love you, oh my God, I bloody _love_ you."

"A bloke could get insulted, you know." Lower lip coming dangerously close to a pout before determining Rose Tyler cuddles and banana chocolate-chip cookies to be a far more appealing prospect than a token defense of his manliness, the Doctor slips off his shoes and suit jacket to slide into bed next to Rose. He wastes no time in snagging a treat for himself, twining his own long legs with Rose's bare ones, goosebumped even under the blankets.

"We'll always have Barcelona." Rose settles herself on the Doctor's chest with a contented little hum, fingers working absentmindedly at the middle button of his oxford. Once the credits begin to roll, she turns her attention fully to undressing him, something which the Doctor is only too happy to assist in even if it is only because his bare chest and smattering of hair makes a better pillow than scalp-jabbing fastenings.

"So, when did you meet Jim Henson?" asks Rose once satisfied with her handiwork, fingers weaving in and out of his smattering of chest hair, now and then plucking out an errant cookie crumb which she leaves beside her on the bedspread.

"Oh, some time in my-" the Doctor counts backwards on his fingers, "fourth body I think it was? Nearly again in my fifth but I got a bit distracted. Brilliant man, Jim Henson, _such_ an imagination. You know, there's a planet dedicated to him? I took him with me there once - the locals went nuts. Bit like a bunch of teenage girls meeting Johnny Depp, except if Johnny Depp was the inspiration behind your entire civilization. Which he might be in some of their- what?"

A brief eye-squint and adorable nose-wrinkle on Rose's part and the TARDIS pauses the show, leaving Miss Piggy stuck mid-head toss. "There's a _planet_? An entire _planet_?"

"Of course. Anything you can imagine in the universe exists somewhere, Rose. Muppets really aren't that far off the mark, most of them are just odd-looking humans or anthropomorphic animals. And this lot has no strings attached!"

"What about Gonzo?"

"An alien," says the Doctor promptly. "Well, technically they're all aliens, but it was revealed in _Muppets from Space_ that the regular-alien Gonzo is from a distant planet. Also, he's a _very_ good salesman," he adds when his mock-glare does nothing to deter Rose from giggling at his geekiness. "I bought most of my suits from him a few regenerations back. No clue when I was gonna wear them."

"How times change." Rose plucks at his pinstriped trousers, half-undone already; with a few seconds' click of zipper teeth, she finishes the job. Too lazy to shift from his own prone position, the Doctor wriggles around on the mattress till giving up somewhere between his knees and ankles.

The Doctor beams at her, hand skating down her back to knead the base of her spine. Rose shivers, leaning into his touch and the Doctor suppresses a shudder of his own, the urge to buck up into her. "Quite right," he says in a voice that is only slightly strangled. Rose doesn't see past it for a second.

"Doctor, we can-"

"You're exhausted, Rose."

"Yeah, but . . ."

"In the morning, love." The Doctor takes several more cookies off the plate and hands them to her. "Eat your cookies. I sacrificed the last of my bananas for these."

"And _I_ am the one carrying your son," Rose replies, voice muffled from a mouthful of said cookie, "who is the one making me crave these things with a bloody vengeance in the first place."

"It could be worse. Remember the first trimester, you couldn't keep down anything except bananas and ketch-"

Looking suddenly nauseous, Rose holds a hand to her mouth and the Doctor reaches for the emergency bucket they've taken to keeping within arm's reach. "No, no, I'll be fine, just - don't give him any ideas. I still don't think Mum believes that I can't eat anything without bananas in it."

(Judging by the array of food that she had been plied with the past four hours, little of it baby-approved, Jackie _definitely_ didn't believe it.)

"Right, sorry." Kissing the top of her head, the Doctor slides further underneath the covers to press his lips to her pregnancy-swollen belly as well. "Won't be long now," he says to the two most important people in his life. Rose can feel his dimples form against her stomach as he smiles.

"I know. Sorry, don't mean to complain."

The Doctor _tsk_ s, rejoining her at the head of the bed. "You, Rose Tyler, have been utterly brilliant these last eight months and are more than entitled to a little impatience with the picky palate of our offspring. Ooh, I like that - _p_ icky _p_ alate." He pops the _p_ 's on the last two words. " _P_ oint is, first _p_ ost- _p_ regnancy . . . er, _p_ rovender - alright, now I'm just stretching - I'll get you an extra-large order of chips. No bananas necessary."

"And tea," says Rose. "A bucket of tea."

"And tea."

"And cookies."

"Cookies?"

"Yeah. Nothing fancy. Just plain-old chocolate-chip cookies."

"From Cookie Monster himself," says the Doctor. "Or . . . well, not Cookie Monster exactly or else he'd just gobble them down immediately. Not the best business model, that. The Monster's Mouth, that's the bakery on Henson I, uses him as more of a - mascot, I suppose. A figurehead to attract customers. Any employees have to sign an NDA to not reveal the secret recipe to anyone; it's been passed down through generations of Cookie Monsters. Their chocolate-chip cookies are second-to-none. I even helped them create banana chocolate-chip a few years ago, the last Cookie Monster was a bit of a diva-"

Rose can already feel herself drifting off again. Stomach no longer curling with unsated cravings, snuggly and warm in the Doctor's embrace as he babbles on about bananas and chocolate-chips and cookies and a turf war between Cookie Monster and the Swedish Chef which he unintentionally started (though maybe that last bit's a dream, it's hard to tell with the Doctor), it's all too easy to sigh and close her eyes, lick her lips of the remaining crumbs and murmur a sleepy "I love you" that has nothing to do with cookies.


End file.
